Ribs and Hips and Scratches
by stelesandwands
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM Not a happy one. Where Derek realises that Stiles is not the 16 year old impressionable, eager to impress boy he met in the woods once. Or where Stiles is finally acknowledged as a messed up person, who's human and doesn't heal magically.


Derek hadn't really noticed at first, how somedays, Stiles would come  
back home, limping a bit. Or that he smelled slightly off, nervous or  
anxious. Derek had always passed it off as dilemma over the current  
monstrosity making their lives hell. He'd mostly ignore the limps and  
at times pained expressions, because all of the guys are first string  
for lacrosse. God knows that game isn't damage-free.

It's the third week into a blissful peace, after the pack has fought  
off an angry coven of faeries. Stiles should have recovered from  
whatever injuries he had, and it's the summer holidays. Derek refuses  
to believe that the lanky boy is dumb enough to play for practice with  
the wolves. So what could it be?

After hating over it for half an hour, Stiles glances over from the TV  
which he'd forced Derek to buy.

"Dude, you look like one of those faeries' claws is still up your ass.  
What is it?" Derek scowls at the stone-faced boy. When did that  
happen? When did emotionally hyper-active Stiles learn to school his  
emotions? Worse yet, Derek thinks, maybe he doesn't feel much at all  
anymore.

It had been known to pretty much all that Stiles used to have a crush  
on Derek. They never really spoke about it. More importantly, the  
crush had apparently worn off, because aside from normal teenage boy  
levels of arousal, Stiles didn't smell like he was drowning in his own  
pheromones. Derek hadn't really noticed at first that the arousal was  
gone; but when he realized, a sudden, slamming, out of breath feeling  
had rushed to greet him. Completely unexpected.

Not that Derek likes Stiles too. No way.

"What's with your hip?" Derek asks, shaking off the uncomfortable ants  
crawling around his heart. Stiles' neck tenses, and suddenly Derek  
knows he's trying to figure out how he can lie about his answer.  
"Stiles. What happened to your shoulder?" Grinds out Derek. 'I swear  
to God this kid, if the faeries left some shit on him-'

"It's nothing don't worry about it." Stiles grins shakily, nothing but  
a shadow of his previous careless one. Somehow he's controlled his  
heartbeat, and Derek is truly afraid now. Truly afraid of how exactly  
happy, bubbly Stiles has come across this method. He takes a deep  
breath, the bitter smell of human pain trickling faintly through his  
nostrils.

Faster than the teenager can probably see, Derek has crossed the room.  
He yanks Stiles' shirt, leaving it a torn mess on the floor. A strange  
rumbling sound resonates -it takes a moment for Derek to understand  
it's him- as he takes in the sight.

Stiles' criminally low pants don't even make an effort to hide the  
horrible bruises down their owners' waist. Derek focuses on the hip,  
hearing it click and whine against the weight change as Stiles shifts.  
Derek glances up, noticing the teenager's shocked expression. Clearly  
he wasn't expecting this kind of reaction. Derek ignores the recent,  
angry pinch marks showing how Stiles is managing his heartbeat.

What he does see is deeply disturbing; several deep, botchy, clearly  
self done, suture marks. The ugly scars gouge deep around the younger  
man's right hipbone and up toward his navel. A breath rattles out of  
Derek and he closes his eyes, "Stiles, what are those?" The werewolf  
is surprised by the level of control he's managed this far.

"Look, you don't need to worry about it; it's from back when Peter was  
focused on fucking our lives up. It's been there forever, before I  
grew out my hair. It's not that big of a deal."

Instead of reassuring Derek though, Stiles has just managed to punch  
him in the gut. How could he have missed this? Because, as he looks  
up, scanning Stiles' form, it's clearly not the only scar left by  
Derek's presence in his life.

Although the scar on his hip is the worst one, there are ones that  
scare Derek more. Like the one slashing violently up from his stomach  
and hooking into his ribs. His hands are out of his control, gripping  
the much more scarred, much more battle weary boy than Derek ever will  
be. Derek could've never suspected. "Stiles, why didn't you tell me?"

Stiles croaks out a laugh, voice rough, "I didn't tell anyone Derek,  
no one knows except Lydia because I couldn't stitch up my back myself.  
I'm not going to make you beat yourself even more over me. Derek I  
know you don't scar, but trust me I know what the lighter you keep in  
your pocket is for.

"Sometimes, I think you forget I'm human, that I'm breakable. I think  
everyone does. Lydia has her weird, complicated, banshee powers and  
everyone else is a werewolf. I don't want to be turned. I like being  
human; sure, sometimes it's annoying as fuck. And frustrating. I've  
found the only way to keep your heartbeat advantage away. I figured it  
out a little after your lighter.

"It's sick but hey, it's not like it's anything new, being hurt kind  
of comes with being the only human in a pack. I'm always the target,  
and I always will be." Stiles' lip trembles and he starts to pull  
away.

Derek doesn't think; he just goes. Their lips scramble against each  
other, before smoothing out. Derek hates that he can feel Stiles'  
tears stick to his skin as the alpha's hands slip up to cup his cheek.  
They run through his hair and then dip back down to the small of his  
back.

Stiles presses up against Derek, whimpering as the werewolf finds the  
scar on his hip. His fingers trace the smooth, puckered skin before  
dipping lower, snapping Stiles' underwear waistband. The teenager  
gasps as it whips back against his skin, he separates their mouths.  
"Asshole," he whispers punching Derek's chest.

Derek chuckles, vibrations shaking both of their frames as they both  
start. "You knew what you were signing up for since day one, idiot,"  
mutters Derek. Stiles starts to protest before giving up to lurch back  
into Derek's mouth.

Somehow this is a better response than anything else Derek could've  
dreamed up. The kiss is more gentle now, lots of feather light pecks  
that Derek peppers onto Stiles' face. But, he can't resist the nigh on  
pornographic sight of those pink lips for long.

Stiles doesn't seem to mind much, soon the light, careful kiss seems  
to change. Derek runs his hands back up Stiles, tracing his  
surprisingly toned sides. Stiles' breath catches as the alpha brushes  
his top ribs.

Something seems to click then, because Stiles scrabbled at Derek's  
hair, tugging frantically down. "Too many clothes Derek. Too many  
clothes." He pulls at the other's shirt, and Derek willingly pulls it  
right over his head.

But before Stiles can get more daring in his demands, Derek gasps out,  
"Stiles, bedroom. Bed. Privacy." Because no way does he trust Boyd not  
to walk in here, just to be a shit, and make both of them  
uncomfortable.

Stiles pauses, gulping in breath, his eyes impossibly close to  
Derek's. They're still knotted together, Stiles' leg between Derek's  
thighs. He shoots a look down at both of their bodies, "Oh- uh yeah,"  
he says, starting to pull away.

Yeah right. As if Derek's going to let that happen. In a hurry, Stiles  
has his legs up around Derek's waist. "I've waited long enough, I'm  
not going to deny myself this." He mutters into Stiles neck, between  
bouts of love bite sucking.

**A/N:** Don't worry Derek is not irresponsible enough to ignore Stiles' problems, not everything is fixed by incredible Sterek sex. Super inspired by hushlittlewolf's 'Paper Skin and Glass Bones' (on AO3 go read it) which is haunting and made me remember that scars exist. Anyways this was Ema's birthday present.

come bother me on my tumblr notdeadallison c:


End file.
